The Rally that Stung
by Thalion Estel
Summary: Rallying to win any game, baseball included, always brings two effects: joy for some and sorrow for others. The Rangers know both results all too well, but it's always nice to have a fan who can offer wisdom on how to respond in either case, especially if that fan happens to be a great elven lord. A one-shot within my "Rally" series.


**Author's Note: As promised, here is another story about my dear Rangers. Like the previous tale of this series, this is a record of a** _ **real**_ **game. But unlike the story before this one, I actually watched this game on TV, so I was able to note a lot more details about the players' reactions. There is little to no guess work here, except of course that which relates to our friend, the stranger. I hope you enjoy his interaction with the Rangers! Be sure to leave a review!**

 **. . .**

No stars twinkled above the Rangers' Ballpark for this game; the sun shone down on a fair September day, withholding its usual heat to gift the baseball game with a very cool and pleasant afternoon. Although most Texans recognized that this teasing of the weather—this illusion of fall—was only temporary, all the fans were soaking up the glory with wide smiles. Well, not all of them. Only the Rangers fans were happy right now; the few people in the crowds with loyalty for the Anaheim Angels wore either frowns or looks of indifference.

Yes, this would surely be it; this would be the game in which the Rangers would clinch the first-place spot of their division. If they could manage to maintain their four run lead through only three more outs, they would have a title to their credit and a reserved spot in the first real round of the playoffs. That hadn't happened in several years, and if it could occur, it would wrap up what could only be described as an unbelievable season of many hard-fought comebacks to get from the bottom to the top.

And they couldn't clinch the division too soon, either. Only _one_ more game remained in the season after today. Unless they just wanted to make the last game as dramatic and terrifying as possible, the Rangers needed to close today's battle without any mistakes.

Even most cautious Ranger fans were more or less at ease with the situation, the score being 10-6. However, one was set apart as never accepting the outcome of any game until it was actually over. This stranger, dark and mysterious as he ever was, sat several rows behind the home team's dugout, watching in silence. He had thoroughly enjoyed this game, but his stomach didn't sit right with him until the ninth inning was in the books.

It truly had been an astounding game. The Rangers had quickly been behind by four runs, and when they had finally caught back up, the Angels scored again. It took some teamwork to tie it and then the power of a few home runs to secure the current lead, which was fairly stable all things considered. And the bullpen had been excellent as of late, so there should not be anything to worry about.

But the stranger didn't let down his guard one bit.

The Rangers' closer, Tolleson, entered to attempt to finish the game. He stood confidently on the mound, watching his catcher, Chirinos, give him signs. He selected a pitch and let out a slow breath before firing the ball towards the plate.

A loud crack made the stranger flinch and grimace in his seat. The ball was hit hard, and it sailed into the right field stands, a solo home run. A few fans groaned, but most just shrugged it off and eagerly awaited the ending. After all, three runs should be enough, and the Angels must have just used their last bit of good luck.

The next batter hit his homerun even further, crushing the ball into the upper deck. The stranger felt his grip on the arm rest tighten involuntarily, not just from the additional run, but also seeing the look of disappointment on Tolleson's face. The closing pitcher was taken out of the game and Ohlendorf was given his chance to finish the inning, having a two run lead and three outs to conquer.

The stranger clenched his jaw as one of the most formidable hitters in all of baseball, Mike Trout, took his stance at the plate. If anyone else was going to hit a home run, it would be this man. But the Angels batter didn't even manage a hit, grounding out to usher in a massive sigh of relief from tens of thousands of attendees. Even the stranger felt a bit more optimistic.

The next opponent Ohlendorf faced popped a pitch into shallow right field. Napoli, the Rangers' long lost catcher-turned-part-time-first-basemen (and sometimes left fielder, though that is another story), jogged back and raised his glove to make the second out. But just as the ball plopped into his glove, Odor, who had been running from second base, blindly crashed into his teammate, sending the ball rolling onto the grass. By the time the dust settled, the Angels had a man on second, the tying run at the plate with only one out.

Now everyone was nervous, some grumbling about the mistake and others just in shock about the turn of events. The stranger did not fall into either camp, maintaining his composure and hoping that the players could get themselves under control. He thought it more than slightly odd for this to happen in such a fashion, especially since the defense and bullpen had both been excellent for a while now. But he shoved his musings aside as the game progressed.

The next batter was a dearly-beloved former Ranger player, and he got some scattered cheers as he came to the plate, though none of the home team fans who encouraged him actually wanted him to do anything except make an out. And he pleased them by quickly striking out, perhaps to show some loyalty to the team he had once helped to achieve history **[Estel wishes to briefly note two things. 1.) Most people would rightly scoff at the ridiculous notion that a player would purposefully get out just for a former team. But 2.) she doesn't care what most people do, and she will go on pretending that her favorite X-Rangers are trying to help Texas at all times]**.

It was now down to just one out. One out away from winning the division—one out away from a sure spot on the road that could lead to the World Series itself. One out away from putting the icing onto this unbelievable run for first place. The crowds stood up and yelled in excitement, awaiting the end eagerly. The stranger stood among them, praying that all the hard work of the game would not be in vain.

Four hits later, no one was standing. No one was cheering. No one was smiling, save a few visiting fans and the entirety of the Angels' dugout. The score was now an unfathomable 11-10. A new pitcher was out and the bases were _still_ full of Angels. The out was _still_ missing. The game was _still_ going, but the Rangers were _not_ still winning.

There was no shout of joy from the crowd when at last a batter grounded out to end the unfortunate top of the ninth inning. He had been the second player to hit a homerun against Tolleson earlier, so long ago yet in the same inning. The life was totally gone from the Ballpark, and the stranger sat with his eyes closed, taking on himself the sorrow of the players. He weakly reminded himself that it wasn't over yet—the Rangers still had the bottom of the inning—but somehow, he knew in his heart that the blow had been dealt, and there was no time for the team to recover from it.

None seemed to be taking the situation harder than Tolleson, who was slumped over the railing of the dugout, looking like he didn't have it in him to stand up.

The world's happiest shortstop, Andrus, hit a single with two outs, sparking a bit of hope into the Ballpark. But during the next player's at bat, despite being one of the best baserunners in the game, he over-slid second base in an attempt to steal it and was tagged out. The game was over, Andrus flat on the ground beside second base, his toe just barely off the bag. He lay there still for a moment as the crowds groaned, his face in the dirt, feeling the weight of it all still pressing down on his shoulders.

The stranger was so torn apart that for a moment he actually didn't know what to do—an exceedingly rare occurrence. He was not angry; he held nothing against the Angels, no matter what joy had been deprived him. The Rangers had been in that position before, rallying to get a great win. Unfortunately, the nature of a rally was that it always gives happiness to some while bestowing grief on others. This latter portion was especially true when the loss was at home, and most definitely when it wrenched away a team's first place spot.

Yet the lack of anger did not clear the stranger's mind. His stomach churned to see Tolleson still leaning against the dugout railing, no doubt consumed with guilt. Andrus had now risen from the dust and was slowly making his way back to his team while the Angels banded together in a joyful throng. The stranger sighed with sorrow, wishing he could fix this. Maybe he ought to go down there and offer some bit of hope…

 _No_ , he chided himself firmly, shaking his head. Who did he think he was? Probably not a good question since he actually did have quite a share of noble blood in his veins, though the blood on his hands likely invalidated any claims to power. No matter what rights he might have, he knew he ought not to encourage other fans to venture on the field or even near the dugout. And did he think that he could just get away with something like that again? After all, he was more than fortunate to have escaped unprosecuted a couples times. There was no way he could talk with the players again.

But his legs weren't listening to his mind's logic as they gradually carried him down the steps towards the dugout. He had no plans or ideas; he didn't really know what he was doing. All he was certain of was that he felt like he couldn't stand around or leave without at least trying to something to lift those boys' spirits.

Perhaps it really was a result of his previous trespassing, or maybe it was just by happenstance, but before the stranger made it to the level of the field, a security guard moved to intersect his course, waving him off.

"Make your way out," the guard commanded, not being particularly rude, but certainly giving a tone that allowed no compromise.

The stranger pretended not to hear, hoping to get close enough to the dugout for his voice to be clearly heard. The guard now seemed more suspicious and annoyed.

"This area is now closed," the officer affirmed in a harder voice. "Move _out_."

The stranger kept walking, avoiding eye contact and continuing with the ignorance charade. He knew it wasn't convincing, but as long as he didn't appear hostile, things should be okay. Finally, when the guard was only a few yards off, the stranger lifted up his voice, which carried a sense of command and musical beauty even after so many ages, and gave his familiar shout,

" _Aurë entuluva_!" he cried with passion, praying his words would carry into the dugout. His call stopped the guard in his tracks, and the officer looked totally conflicted for a brief moment, blinking at nothing, before recovering his senses and stepping forward.

The stranger had no desire for confrontation. He dipped his head and turned on his heels, taking a side aisle to his left towards the exit. But he too was stopped in his tracks as a voice yelled out in response from the dugout.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?" someone called out, and the stranger didn't even have to guess who it was, a smile threatening to creep up his lips.

It could only be Andrus.

Turning around to face the dugout, along with the security guard, the stranger couldn't keep a straight face as he saw the shortstop's head poking out just in view, waving his arm around and grinning as if the loss hadn't even happened. The stranger and the security officer exchanged looks, each weighing the other. The stranger ended the encounter with a casual shrug before jogging down the steps toward the dugout, knowing the guard would hardly stop him now.

"You were gonna leave without saying anything?" Andrus teasingly asked, crossing his arms and putting on a fake expression of rebuke.

"I _did_ give you a parting cry," the stranger responded when he reached the railing, smiling slightly. "Wasn't that enough?"

"Absolutely not," the shortstop laughed. "Dude, how long are you going to avoid the inevitable?"

"What are you talking about?" the stranger asked in true perplexity.

"Becoming a manager or something," Andrus responded, and while he _was_ smiling, he wasn't exactly joking in the full sense. "We could really use someone to always provide a spark in the dugout."

The stranger chuckled slightly, shaking his head. "I believe that's been your job throughout most of the season."

Andrus gave a modest, more serious smile. "I do my best," he finally answered, "but I still think you should come down here during a game again. Last year's comeback was the best! Speaking of last year, you haven't met the guys who didn't play that game yet…"

The stranger laughed quietly again. "I don't think that would be the wisest course of action, especially after the loss. I think I should let them be for now. Maybe some other time—"

"Well, what about Moreland in the Astros game?"

"I didn't venture into the dugout in that instance, and besides, it was only a quick stop. I simply don't want to invade what is the realm of players and coaches."

"Invade?" Andrus asked incredulously. "I'm practically begging you!"

The stranger let out a sigh, trying to process the emotions that entangled themselves in his ancient mind. He didn't remember the last time anyone had begged him for anything…except mercy. He shuddered as the images came into his head of death and blood and pain and suffering. Evils that he had caused. Was this a chance to have redemption? No—no one could truly earn their own redemption. But perhaps it was a chance to make a good contribution. Should he take it?

"Maybe tomorrow, when the season is decided," the stranger finally answered. Andrus looked both excited and disappointed at the same time, so the stranger made an additional comment. "I suppose it wouldn't be amiss to speak with Tolleson just for a moment, though. He seems to need a bit of encouragement."

The shortstop's eyes lit up and he nodded in an exaggerated way before dashing into the clubhouse, his voice ringing out as he called for his teammate. The stranger couldn't help but grin—that Ranger was nearing thirty years old, yet he behaved like a small child sometimes. It was almost certainly a good quality.

Looking up, the stranger saw that the security guard was still hanging around, standing a few rows back and watching the encounter closely. His expression was a mix of awe, confusion, and suspicion, and his arms were folded before him as if he were awaiting an explanation. The stranger didn't offer one, focusing his attention back to the dugout as Andrus' resounding voice began to get nearer.

"It'll make you feel better; I promise!" Andrus was saying as he emerged with the closer coming behind.

"I'm tell you, I'm fine," the pitcher insisted. "Fan attention is definitely not what I need, Elvis."

"This isn't your typical fan attention, Tolly," Andrus retorted mischievously.

The pitcher was about to reply when he looked up and saw who was standing above the dugout. The stranger had met him before, or at least, they had both been present during the fateful comeback of last year, though Tolleson had not pitched. The closer immediately recognized the stranger, and a smile crept up his face.

"It's _you_!" he exclaimed with a grin, leaping up to the railing and even daring to hop over it onto the stands, which were now empty. "I've been wondering if you would show up again."

"I've shown up several times," the stranger admitted. "I just haven't interfered."

"Except in Houston," Andrus added, himself climbing out of the dugout.

The stranger smiled and gave a small nod. "Yes, except Houston." Then, on a more serious note, the stranger looked the pitcher in the eye. "You know it's alright, don't you?"

"The loss?" Tolleson inquired, breaking the eye contact and slumping his shoulders a bit. "Yeah, I guess it is. In the end, at least. Sure doesn't feel that way right now, and I bet 40,000 plus people agree with me. I just wish I hadn't let them down."

"It's not all your fault," the stranger affirmed kindly, "and even if it was, you must realize that you always have people on your side. Win or lose, I guarantee that no amount of bad baseball can make me stop hoping for your blessing. And other fans share my view as well; trust me."

"All of us have your back, too," Andrus offered. "That's what makes us a _team_."

"Thanks, guys," Tolleson said quietly but sincerely, nodding a bit.

"Just remember that someone is always standing with you, no matter what happens," the stranger repeated. "And if I know the Rangers players very well, I think I can safely say in your case, I'm not just talking about a lowercase someone."

Tolleson beamed. "Yeah, I guess that should be in the forefront of my mind."

It was quiet for a short moment as all three pondered the exchange. The stranger again caught the pitcher's eye, and even though he didn't say anything else, comfort and peace were communicated. At last, a yell came from inside the dugout, calling the two missing players back to join the team.

"You sure you want to wait 'til tomorrow?" Andrus asked as he climbed back over the railing and leapt onto the concrete floor of the dugout.

"Yes," the stranger affirmed, shaking hands with Tolleson who then followed the shortstop down to the dugout. "Remember that my hope is for you all tomorrow, and no matter what happens, _aurë entuluva_."

" _Aurë entuluva_ ," both players repeated as a sort of farewell before waving and descending into the hallway.

The stranger gave a small sigh and then turned to leave. The security guard was still standing nearby, now almost totally void of suspicion, but apparently brimming over with curiosity. The elf only smiled politely, nodded his head as a parting gesture, and made towards the exit without saying anything.

Some things could not really be explained in words anyway.

 **. . .**

 **So, how did you like it? I can't tell you how hard that game was to watch, and I remember beforehand being so excited because I was going to arrive home for fall break just in time to see it on TV (rather than watching only the stats on the internet as I am usually forced to do). Surely now you must be curious to know what happened the following day, the do-or-die game for the Rangers' season. Well, you're in luck! I wrote that one into a story as well, and it should be up soon. Thanks so much for reading; please be sure to review!**


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